


Snippets from the Chronicles

by Marinari



Series: Iolarin Chronicles [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 07:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marinari/pseuds/Marinari
Summary: This is the section I will be adding parts of the Iolarin Chronicles that don't really fit into the main story; snippets from other characters, scenes that simply had no cohesion with any chapters, and other such works.





	1. Samson's confrontation

**Author's Note:**

> Samson wanted to do right. He wanted to save the elven mage, wanted to be a hero. Now all his wants and hopes were damned.

19th Day of Bloomingtide, 9:31 DRAGON

Samson made his way down the hall, snarl twisting his face. He could feel the stickiness of blood on his gloves, still smelt the copper scent of it. I thought he would throw up, as soon as he had entered his shared room. He couldn’t believe the girl had still been alive.

He knew her well enough, same as most any Templar. Always where she was least welcomed, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong and trilling loudly; Orsino’s bloody starling. Samson had seen her tackle a Templar, for hitting a chantry sister.

It had taken him a few minutes to stop laughing, confirming that slip of a thing had toppled a man easily three times her weight, and help the initiate and apprentice the man had been beating on.

Her sudden silence and absence over the past two months was explained now; the newest prick of a Templar had locked the little song bird up and beaten her bloody. Who knew how often the man had taken to raping the defenseless mage.                                                                              

He had waited outside the room, until Thekla had peeked out at him. He had waited through the night, though Rutherford had never shown his face. Then the mage had told him she had lost so much blood, weak and in need of food.

Then he mentioned a child, a chill down Samson’s spine, the mage’s voice breaking.

“It’ll never happen again, if I’ve got anything to do with it. You watch over the lass, I’ll do the rest.” He had muttered, clenching his gloved hands until they cramped from it.

Rutherford had balls, damaging Orisno’s starling; the mage man was known to be as unrelenting as Stannard herself. He would see that Templar strung up, when he found out.

It boiled in his blood, the way Templars treated mages around here, how often they got away with the same depravities visited on that elf girl. It was their duty, by the bloody maker, to protect and guide the mages. Here they weren’t even allowed to send bloody letters.

Which reminded him of the one tucked into his belt, to young Maddox. These kids deserved a hell of a lot better than him, but he seemed one of the few who gave a damn.

When he entered his room, Rutherford was laying on his newly made bed, eyes closed.

“I know what you’ve done, boy.” He challenged loudly, voice echoing across the room. The curly hair man opened his eyes to glare at him, though he didn’t move from his position.

“Not a clue what you’re on about, Sam,” He replied coolly, face impassive. The smug, twisted bastard.

“That girl you left to die in this room, ring a bell? The fuck is wrong with you, doin’ that?” He stormed forward, yanking the other Templar by the collar of his tunic. Cullen simply glared at him, apathetic. It pissed him off, and he yanked the bastard to his feet.

“Jealous, Sam? If you wanted a go I bet she’d be willing en-“ the smug look fell quickly as his head snapped back, the steel of Samson’s gauntlet cutting into the skin of his cheek, splitting it. The older man snarled drawing back to punch him again when Cullen tackled him to the ground.

“You son ova’-“ Samson kicked him off, coughing heavily. Blood oozed from the gash on Cullen’s face, a mark of victory for him. That was until he saw the letter on the ground, at Cullen’s feet the same time the other man did. Cullen snatched it up, eyes reading over the delicate handwriting.

The sweet words made the man laugh derisively, and Samson growled.

“Passing love letters for a mage, Sam?” The doors burst open behind them, concerned Templars peering in. “Confine this man. The Knight-Commander will want to see these; Templar Samson has been corrupted by a mage.” A chill went down Samson’s spine, as Cullen stared at him smugly.

Meredith’s favorite, or a surly uncooperative Templar? With sinking realization, he understood the fate awaiting him.

“You beat that girl so close to death, she lost the spawn you left in her.” He spat, last recourse as the other Templar called out to others, binding his arms behind his back.

Cullen’s eyes widened tellingly, then narrowed in a glower. “And grab Mage Maddox.”

His words and condemnations were ignored, Cullen applauded for catching his crimes before they got out of hand. He was stripped of rank and home. The smug bastard smirked at him, crying the unfortunate state of Templars being seduced by mages.

Maddox was claimed for tranquility, punishment more for Samson. A reminder.

He pledged to fight the Chantry, do whatever he could for mages. That pledge only stayed strong and moral the first week, before Meredith and Cullen’s true punishment came to light. The withdrawal made him sick, angry, desperate.

He wondered if that elven starling was still alive, a desperate prayer of a damned man, that she was still trilling loudly within the Gallows. Maker, he had failed them.


	2. Namia's Woe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another one, so soon?! You guys just give me so much love, I'm uploading as much as I can tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Namia cursed. She cursed the Chantry for trapping her, cursed them for hurting her friends. She cursed herself for not doing something more to save Iolarin before it was too late.

30th Day of Cloudreach, 9:32 Dragon

Namia watched Alain leave the Chantry room with a heavy heart, the way his head hung low and his eyes had seemed so void of life burned in her memory. He had recently been returned, and Namia thanked any god that would listen that he was not tranquil or dead. She could lose no one else.

She gripped the letters to her chest, Karls dying wish. She only wished she knew a way to get the letters to who they were meant for. No contact had come, since they had found the dead Templars littering the chantry floor. So she would hold them close and tight, wait until she found a way to deliver them to the intended.

A bolt, like lightening, struck her then. A memory. Of Iolarin whispering of a secret place, of letters meant for Karl. Stuffing the bundle into a pouch on her belt she hurried from the room. She made her way as quickly as she could to Iolarin’s rooms.

She knew no one should be there, the occupant moved somewhere she could not reach. Yet when she entered the room all of her breath was stolen away. The room was a mess, everything destroyed and strewn about. All of Iolarin’s belongings scattered about the floor.

With shaky breaths and trembling hands Namia got to her knees, digging through the debris to pry up a stone. Only to feel her heart sink and stutter. The cache was empty.

With panic and despair clouding her mind she clawed at other stones, looking hopelessly for those letters, for something to give the man both of her lost friends had longed to see again.

Hours later, her hands raw and fingers bloody, and she had found nothing. Sebastian was the one who found her, and he helped her from the room, silent. He never mentioned her state, or asked her any questions.

She felt despair clinging onto her like a shroud.

***

When news came of Iolarin’s death, likely murder, Namia felt as if she would never be whole or happy again.

She had lost everything and everyone she had ever loved.

Namia wept into her bed, damning and cursing the Chantry. But what could she do? She was no freer than the mages here.

Now she had nothing, but hate in her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not crying, you're crying!

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little blurb, and I had never really found a good place to stick it in the main work. Poor Samson, just trying to do what's right. (FYI I am very much of the opinion he should have been the commander in Inquisition... >>)


End file.
